lost without him, here in Venice."

"We almost got lost with him the other day," she rejoined. "We poked
about in the rain in search of a San Giorgio on the wall of a house, who
was described as 'vigorous in disciplined career of accustomed conquest.'
We found the right bridge, with an unpronounceable name, and we turned
and looked back, just as we were bid, and never a San Giorgio did we
find. Imagine our disappointment when a shop-keeper told us that San
Giorgio was _partito_!"

"He was probably _partito_ on his 'career of accustomed conquest,'"
Pauline observed. "Is that what you two artists have been about?"

"We have been making a couple of daubs and abusing each other," said
Geof.

"Yes," Kenwick declared; "Daymond spends his time washing in sails and
clouds and watery wastes, and won't take the trouble to draw a figure."

"Oh, well," said Daymond, philosophically, "I know that if I should ever
want to exhibit, which Heaven forbid! Kenwick could well afford to put
in the figures at ten francs the dozen. I don't suppose you mind being
interrupted," he added, tentatively.

"No, indeed," said May. "Our scene was in need of figures, too. Even
Uncle Dan failed us. He hates to be read to, and he wouldn't come and
moor."

"Besides," said Pauline; "he wanted to go and sit at Florian's and watch
the children feeding the pigeons. He says he shouldn't grow old if he
lived in Venice."

"He had better, then," said Daymond. "Venice is very becoming to old
things. Don't you want to come and see some of those Madonnas we were
telling you about, with parasols over their heads?"

"Good," May agreed, promptly giving Ruskin the go-by. "And why don't you
come in our gondola? You don't want all that clutter going about with
you."

"I'm afraid if we don't go home and brush up, we shall have the
appearance of a clutter in your boat," said Geof.

"Speak for yourself," Kenwick protested. He flattered himself that he
was as well dressed in painting rig as under any other circumstances;
and quite right he was, too. For Oliver Kenwick had no mannish contempt
for appearances. He could not have done justice to the ragged shirt and
begrimed legs of a model, if he had been wearing such a superannuated
coat as Geoffry Daymond elected to paint in. Yet, as the two men stepped
into Vittorio's gondola, it was he of the shabby apparel who seemed to
give character to the group, while Oliver Kenwick would have made very
little impression, i